


The Bridge Between

by gryvon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BAMF Stiles, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, The Hale Pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/pseuds/gryvon
Summary: Stiles is busy enough between high school during the day and cleaning up Beacon Hills's rampant supernatural problems at night. The last thing he needs is a soulmate thrown into the mix. Of course, with his luck, he ends up with two soulmates who hate each other.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 79
Kudos: 536
Collections: Secret Steter BFFs





	1. The Hale Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Triangulum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/gifts).



Stiles drifts through the Preserve. He feels detached, like he’s walking through a dream. He isn’t entirely sure he’s not in a dream. His surroundings feel distant, but his dreams don’t have this sort of sharp clarity, nor are they peaceful. He can smell the dirt and decomposing greenery that make up the forest floor, can feel it cold and hard beneath his bare feet. He should be shivering in his pajamas, chilled by the crisp winter air. He isn’t. It’s late January but there’s thankfully no snow on the ground. He wishes he’d put on shoes, something to form a barrier between him and the ground, but he doesn’t even remember leaving bed. He has no idea how he ended up in the middle of the forest, nor does he know where he’s going, only that he needs to be somewhere.

He’s not supposed to be in the woods, especially this late at night. His father always says the Preserve is dangerous. Stiles has outgrown the fairy tales and superstitions his mom used to tell him. He knows there are no trickster fairies trying to steal him away nor are there monsters waiting to devour him. 

He’s learned that the real monsters are human.

A bundle of emotions too complex to parse grip his chest like the precursor to a panic attack, but for once—probably the only time since panic first caught him in its sharp grip—it’s easy to push the panic away before it takes over. No one will notice his absence. Scott and Mrs. McCall were sound asleep when he crept out of the house. His father won’t check on him until late tomorrow, if at all.

His father hardly even looks at Stiles since his mom died. Stiles doesn’t blame him. It’s Stiles’s fault she died. He wouldn’t want to be around himself either if he had the choice.

A new scent catches his attention. There’s smoke up ahead. He wants to run—someone could be in trouble and his father says that they should always help people who are in trouble—but his body keeps the same measured pace. The forest is dark. There’s a full moon overhead, but very little of the moon’s light reaches the forest floor. Somehow his normal clumsiness has left him and he avoids tripping over any rocks or branches that are in his path.

When his body finally stops, he’s at the edge of a large clearing. There’s a big house in the center, lit up with flames. Somehow, Stiles knows that there are people trapped inside, people who can’t get out. He also knows that the woman who set the fire is still here, watching from the shadows along with her accomplices.

Stiles raises his right hand. He feels the heat of the fire from across the clearing, calling to him like fire always does. He feels it and he pulls. Something snaps. The flames flare purple and then die. Black ash is carried away from the house in a gust of wind, swirling around the clearing and then landing in a pile at his feet. He bends, scoops it up, and puts it in his pocket.

Across the clearing the bad woman screams in anger. She has guns, guns she will use to kill the people inside the house. Stiles lifts his hand again and makes a twisting motion in the air. The guns will not work.

Inside the house, another woman screams, but the sound is buried inside a roar. It’s echoed by more voices, rising one by one until they’re all howling in unison. It’s the sound of loss. It’s the sound of pain and anger and revenge. Figures stream from the house and toward the bad woman. Then comes screaming of a different kind entirely. He feels the bad woman die and it’s like something around him shifts, locking into place.

She’s not the only person who dies tonight. Not all the dead were good and not all the dead were bad. It doesn’t matter now because they are no more.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Stiles turns to look up at the dark-skinned man standing beside him. He has a friendly smile and sharp eyes. Stiles does not know him, but he will. “Come, Mieczyslaw. You’ve done enough here.”

Stiles turns and follows the strange man back into the woods.


	2. Argents Arrive

“Stiles! Stiles!”

He looks up from his book to see Scott weaving through the cafeteria crowd, pulling an unfamiliar girl with curly brown hair behind him. Scott’s face is stretched in a wide grin that can only mean one thing. Dread washes over him, but he buries it away somewhere deep and dark inside of him. His smile starts out forced, but he hopes that isn’t noticeable as he nods a greeting. “Scotty. Pretty lady with Scotty.”

Scott drops into the seat across from Stiles, his lunch tray clattering onto the table, and Stiles dutifully marks his place and closes his book to give Scott his full attention. The girl settles more gracefully next to Scott. Her lunch choices seem to lean more toward the healthy side whereas Scott has gone for quantity over quality with two burgers, fries, and an apple. The silver paw mark on Scott’s right wrist is mirrored on the girl’s left wrist and Stiles can’t help the brief pang of jealousy that shoots through him at the sight.

“This is Allison,” Scott says, like Allison’s name is something reverent. Stiles supposes it is. The link between soulmates is sacred in pretty much every religion that cares about such things as sacredness. “Her family moved here from Arizona.”

Stiles turns his fake smile to Allison. “Congratulations, and welcome to Beacon Hills.” It’s a little odd to be transferring during senior year, but at least the year has only started. Maybe they’re a military family? He’d heard something about Fort Jewitt being reopened.

“Thanks.” Allison smiles back at him. She seems nice, a calm sort of pleasant that will balance Scott out nicely. Maybe some of her healthy eating habits will too. Stiles and Mrs. McCall have been trying to wean Scott off junk food for years to no avail. “Scott told me you’re his best friend.” She holds out her hand. “I hope we can be friends too.”

“Of course.” He shakes her hand briefly and resists the urge to send his magic delving for details. She isn’t an inherently evil supernatural creature—he would have sensed that as soon as she’d come within five miles of the school. Anything else is good enough in his book. “Any friend of Scott’s is a friend of mine, and since you’re Scott’s soulmate that means we’re obviously destined to be friends.”

Scott beams at him like he’d handed Scott the moon. Scott and Stiles have been best friends since fifth grade, so it’s only natural that Stiles would be friends with Scott’s soulmate. There’s simply no other option.

Allison beams and looks at the empty expanse of table around the three of them with obvious curiosity. “Are we expecting anyone else?” She glances pointedly at Stiles’s wrists. Stiles reflexively jerks them back from view, tucking his arms against his chest and tugging the sleeves of his flannel down to cover his blank skin more securely. His face flushes with embarrassment.

“I, uh…”

Scott reaches across the table and grabs Stiles’s arm. He squeezes, thumb brushing against the fabric of his flannel in an attempt at reassurance. “We are, actually, just not....” Scott pulls Stiles’s arm forward until it rests on the table between them. Allison watches them with concern. “Stiles hasn’t met his soulmate yet.”

Stiles snorts. That’s a lie. He tries to jerk his arm back, but Scott won’t let go. Part of Stiles is grateful for that. He isn’t sure where he’d be without Scott. Actually, no, he knows exactly where he'd be without Scott—dead.

“Is Stiles moping again?” Erica bumps Stiles with her hip, nearly knocking him out of his chair as she sits next to him.

Stiles glares at her. “I am not moping.” That's totally a lie.

“That’s totally a lie,” Erica says. Boyd makes a noise of agreement from Erica’s other side.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Allison, Erica, Boyd.” He slides the thermos in front of him over to Erica. She downs the whole thing in one long, greedy series of gulps and passes the empty thermos back with an impressive belch.

Allison stares at them. “What?”

Erica shrugs. “Tea.”

“It’s medicinal,” Stiles supplies when it’s obvious Erica isn’t going to elaborate. Allison’s eyebrows shoot up even further. Stiles flushes and raises his hands. “Not like that. Think more like… I don’t know. Chinese herbal teas? Like how Chamomile is supposed to be soothing and all that.”

“You made it?” Allison asks, sounding surprised.

Stiles shrugs. “Old family recipe.”

Allison frowns. “I know it’s none of my business, but why don’t you just give Erica the recipe?”

Stiles turns to Erica with a pointed look. He gestures at Allison as proof of their long-standing argument. “See.”

Erica grins. “Stiles makes it better.” She has a canister of loose-leaf at home but she insists on having Stiles make it for her every school-day.

Allison smiles. “I guess.” Her smile falls slightly as she looks at Erica. “I don’t mean to be nosy…”

Erica snorts and waves a hand. “Just ask. We’re a pretty blunt group, so you’re not going to do yourself any favors by being shy.”

“What’s it for?”

“Epilepsy,” Erica says, like it’s something as common as anxiety or gas. Allison’s eyes widen and Erica thankfully continues. “It’s not a cure, or even really much of a fix, but it helps with the symptoms. Between the tea and the actual prescriptions I’m on, I haven’t had a full seizure in years.”

“That’s amazing.”

Stiles waves a hand. “It’s tea. Nothing special.” Which is a complete lie, because there’s magic involved but he’s not about to advertise that.

“So now that you know my medical history, it’s nice to meet you.” Erica holds out her hand for Allison to shake. The red apple on Erica’s wrist stands out like a vivid tattoo. Erica not-so-subtly twists Allison’s hand so she can check her wrist. Allison giggles and holds up her left wrist to show them the mark that matches Scott’s. Erica lets out a small squeal and bounces in her seat. Stiles wants to sink through his and disappear through a hole in the floor.

Scott squeezes Stiles’s arm, drawing his attention. “It’s gonna happen for you too.”

Allison looks confused. He debates not telling her. It isn’t any of her business. It isn’t anyone’s business but his own, which of course means the whole school knows. He sighs. Allison is going to find out eventually.

He carefully extracts his arm from Scott’s grip and exposes his blank wrists one after the other. “I don’t have a soulmate.”

Scott opens his mouth to launch into his usual pep talk, but surprisingly Allison beats him to it. She looks at him with pure compassion in her eyes. “There’s still time. Not everyone’s mark shows up right away. My dad’s didn’t until a few weeks after he turned eighteen and he didn’t even meet my mom until they were both out of college. Don’t give up.”

Stiles frowns. He subconsciously tugs down his sleeves. “I'm already eighteen.” Allison starts to speak again but Stiles shakes his head. He forces the doom and gloom from his face and attempts another smile. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, a lot of people have relationships with people who aren’t their soulmates. It doesn’t mean I’m stuck with a life of chastity. There’s a sea full of teenagers looking to sow their wild oats before settling down, and let’s not forget the widower market. I’ll be fine.”

Erica bites into her apple and gives Stiles a lascivious look. “Offer of a three-way is always on the table.” Boyd snorts but doesn’t disagree. Stiles narrows his eyes and tries to glare through Erica. Boyd never says no when Erica offers. Stiles still isn’t sure if that’s because Boyd is teasing him or because he’s actually down with it. The thought of the latter kind of scares him, mostly because he doesn't want to dive down the rabbit hole of thinking about what Boyd's big, strong hands could do to him. That way lies madness and long, lonely nights.

“I’ll pass.”

Silence settles over the table as everyone digs into their lunches and Stiles stares down at his book. Would it be rude to open it and get back to his research?

Allison is the first to breech the silence. “Did you eat already?” She takes a bite of her salad and continues after she’s chewed and swallowed. “I know some schools have staggered lunch periods. I’m still trying to figure out my schedule. I’m lucky I had English first period with Scott or I would be totally lost. He’s been such a help. I even forgot to bring a pen.” 

Scott answers before Stiles can. “Stiles skips lunch sometimes, usually when he’s engrossed in research. He’s got, like, this whole research mode he goes into and it’s impossible to get him to focus on anything else, including basic necessities like eating regular meals.”

Erica makes a noise and elbows Boyd. An apple passes from Boyd’s packed lunch to land on top of Stiles’s book via Erica. Stiles rolls his eyes and takes the hint. Boyd always brings extra food for him, even though Stiles has never asked him to. It’s like Boyd has a second sense for when Stiles is too distracted for a real meal. Stiles would have suspected something supernatural but he knows for sure that Boyd is one-hundred percent human.

He checked.

Jury is still out on Boyd’s grandmother, who is the source of the packed lunches.

Scott pokes at Stiles’s book with one hand while he stabs a fry on his fork with the other. “What is it this time? Mating habits of African rhinos? The history of male circumcision?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s not always about sex. It’s not even usually about sex. Ninety-nine percent of the time, what I’m reading has nothing to do with sex.” Erica snorts and gives him a pointed look. Stiles sighs. “That’s a lie. It’s probably closer to eighty, but come on, I’m a teenage virgin, what do you expect?”

Allison giggles. Scott gestures in the air with a ketchup-covered fry on his fork. “Those are the only ones I can remember. And usually the only ones I can pronounce.”

“Weren’t you on that Gaelic kick, like, two weeks ago? With the history on all those stones and the meaning of their locations?”

Stiles gestures at Erica. _”Íocann D'iarr duine éigin aird.”_ He points a finger at Scott. “I gave you vocab cards for a reason.”

Scott rolls his eyes and stuffs his face with fries. “I’m not doing homework unless it’s for a grade.”

Stiles mock glares. “I’m grading you. Internally.”

Scott snorts. “Whatever. I already know I have an A+ in Bro Studies.”

Erica leans against Stiles’s arm, her boobs pressing against him in a way that would have set his blood on fire if it was anyone other than Erica. She bats her eyelashes at him. “And what’s my grade?”

“F for fuck off.” Stiles pulls his arm out of her grip and she mock-pouts at him before going back to her apple.

Allison grins. “You guys seem really close. I’m glad Scott has such great friends. I’m looking forward to getting to know you all better.”

“You’ll fit right in,” Stiles says. He doesn’t even have to pretend that’s true. Allison seems like a genuinely nice person, and Stiles can’t think of one reason so far not to like her.

Scott punches Stiles in the shoulder. “So, what’s got your big brain working today?”

“Harpies,” Stiles lies. There is a section about harpies in the book, but he’s already read that part and discounted them as the source of the two dead bodies that were found torn to shreds a week apart in the southern end of the Preserve. He’s still trying to figure out what he’s dealing with.

Scott pokes at the cover of the book. “Is that even in English?”

“No. It’s in Greek.”

“You read Greek?” Allison says it like it’s some big accomplishment.

Stiles waves a hand. “I didn’t feel like studying Spanish or French.” He leans across the table and gives Allison a conspiratorial wink. “If you ever want to impress Lydia Martin, ask her how many languages she speaks.”

Erica snorts. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who ever cared about impressing Lydia Martin.”

Stiles sighs. Some days he wishes he had a soulmark that matched up with the interlocking silver rings on Lydia’s wrist but his skin remains pointedly blank. “So,” he says, prompting a quick change of topic. “Allison. Tell us about yourself. Give us the elevator pitch of you.”

Cute little dimples appear on her cheeks as she smiles. “I don’t know. There’s not much to tell. Um, we moved here from Arizona because of my dad’s job. It’s just me and him. My mom died a few years ago.”

Stiles nods. “Same. I mean, my mom died when I was ten," and he can't stop the vicious stab of guilt that hits him as he mentions his mom's death but he talks through it, "so it’s me and my dad. And Scott’s practically my brother.” He has a key to Scott’s house and vice-versa. He has yet to give up on hooking his dad up with Scott’s mom, thus making them actual brothers. Erica prods him in the arm until he adds “and Erica’s the sister I wish I never had.” He frowns. “Does that make Boyd my brother-in-law?” He shakes his head. “Anyway, my dad’s the county sheriff, so don’t be surprised if anyone comments on you hanging out with ‘the nark.’ What’s your dad do?”

“He sells firearms. Argent Arms. It’s a family business. He’ll probably be meeting with your dad soon, if he hasn’t already. We sell to a lot of law enforcement. And military, hence why we’re here with the base opening.”

Stiles keeps his smile plastered on his face even as he freezes internally. He tries to glance over toward the popular kids’ table as subtly as he can and yep, Cora Hale is staring at them. Staring at Allison, to be precise. He's pretty sure Malia Hale is too, wherever she's lurking today. The last time there’d been Argents in town, the Hales had nearly all died in a house fire. Three of them had died and, oh, Stiles helped kill the Argent who’d started it. He wonders if Kate Argent is related to Allison.

He knows one thing for sure, the Hales are not going to be happy about having Argents back in their territory. He wonders if Allison even knows about the history between their two families. She doesn’t seem to notice Cora’s interest, hasn’t even so much as glanced at anyone outside their table since she sat down. Allison’s still talking about herself, about how she used to do archery and gymnastics when she was younger. That sounds straight out of a hunter training manual, but according to her, she’d quit those hobbies a few years ago and has been trying out a bunch of new things lately, like painting and photography. She doesn’t sound like a bloodthirsty hunter, but Stiles has never met any other hunters to compare against.

Hopefully, if Stiles’s research pans out and luck is on his side, the Argents won’t be in town long. He kind of feels bad for Scott, like maybe he shouldn’t get involved in whatever mutilated those two bodies in the woods so that Allison’s family will stick around a little longer, but Stiles can’t let something go around killing people in his hometown. The best thing to do is to find whatever supernatural baddie has drawn the Argents here and get rid of it as fast as possible.

Maybe Scott and Allison can work out some sort of long-distance relationship until it’s time to head off to college? Skype is a wonderful invention and, hey, phone sex! Scott’s waited two years to be with Allison. What’s one more?

* * *

“There are Argents in town.”

The whole house falls silent at Cora’s pronouncement. All eyes turn to Peter, even Isaac who looks wholly confused but willing to follow the others’ lead. He slowly slides his bookmark in between the pages of the book he’d been reading—Odd Apocalypse by Dean Koontz, because it’s amusing to read about someone whose life is more tragic than his own—and sets it aside. His eyes flash blue as he turns his attention first to listen for Malia, who's outside prowling through the woods at their property's edge, and then to Cora. “Do tell.”

Cora falls onto the couch next to her brother, jostling him and nearly causing his laptop to fall to the floor.

“Hey!” Derek glares at her as he fumbles to catch his laptop.

Cora bats away Derek’s protests. “Some new girl at school. Allison Argent. She bonded with one of the dweebs in my year. They’re sickeningly in love. It’s gross.”

“She’s in my Biology class,” Isaac adds. He’s still hovering in the doorway like a skittish deer, afraid to venture too deep into the Hale house without Cora’s prompting, even after living with them for over a year.

Peter makes a disinterested noise in the back of his throat and picks up his book, resuming his place. “Christopher’s daughter.” A pang of jealousy streaks through him, something old but persistent that he instantly pushes down. “A baby hunter, though one who lives by a strict code. She’s full of delightful ideals. Her father hasn’t been active as anything more than a mentor since poor Victoria’s untimely death. Still, best check the sprinkler system.”

“Peter!” Talia shouts from the kitchen. “That’s not funny.”

He raises his head from his book but doesn’t speak above a normal conversational volume, knowing full well she can hear him. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

Cora frowns and squirms in her seat, causing Derek to huff and move over on the couch lest he lose his laptop again. “Do you think it’s going to be okay? Really? I mean...” Cora swallows thickly. Her eyes shoot over to Isaac, likely thinking of the humans who’d died in the fire. “Not like last time?”

Talia appears from the kitchen and squeezes Cora’s shoulder. “No, honey. We’re not going to let anything happen to this family.”

“Again,” Peter adds bitterly.

He can feel Talia staring at him but Peter doesn’t bother looking up. They’d both lost their soulmates in the fire. Talia handled it better. She’d even remarried—a political arrangement that unexpectedly turned romantic.

Peter isn’t above the occasional dalliance to get his dick wet, but his one true mate is dead and gone. There are no second chances.

“We’ll take shifts running the Preserve,” Talia says. “I’ll call Eric and ask him to check with his friends at the Sheriff’s Department, see what drew the Argents to the area. Until then, no one goes out alone. And Peter...” She waits until he looks up. “For the love of Fenrir, don’t kill anyone.”

Peter feigns innocence. “Who? Me?”

Talia’s eyes flash Alpha red. Cora and Derek reflexively sink back into the couch but Peter is long past such conditioned responses. He’d grown up with Talia after all. She is his sister first and his Alpha second. “Yes, you. We’ve all lost people. Both sides. There’s no reason to rip open old wounds.”

“You say that like the wounds healed at all.” His grin is positively feral. Cora shifts nervously, her eyes darting between Talia and Peter while Derek buries himself on his laptop. Isaac has disappeared. “I promise I won’t go looking for any Argents to kill but if one happens to fall into my hand, I’m not going to sheathe my claws.”

Talia sighs. “Please, Peter.”

He snaps his book shut and stands, barely keeping the growl out of his voice as he spits out his words. “They caught us unaware once before. Never again.” He storms out of the house before Talia can respond. He usually spends his evenings with Talia’s family, but he’s no longer in the mood for company.

Malia’s waiting when he gets to the car. He keeps the radio off for the entire drive back to their apartment and he plans.

* * *

Chris smiles and extends his hand as he stepped into the Sheriff’s office. “Chris Argent, Argent Arms. How do you do?” He isn’t entirely happy to be back in Beacon Hills but so far his official business seems to be going well. He’s lucky that there’s a new sheriff in charge since the last time his family had been here.

“Noah Stilinski. Have a seat,” the sheriff says before doing the same. “It’s nice to finally put a face behind the company.”

“Likewise,” Chris says. “We have sales reps, of course, but my family has always made getting to know the people we serve a priority. I like to handle things personally where I can.”

Noah leans back in his seat. He’s studying Chris, measuring him. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to be one to beat around the bush. “I remember another Argent stopping by when I was a deputy.” There’s a pointed edge to the man’s smile. He knows. “He was an older man. Your father?”

“Unfortunately.” Chris lets his smile fade. Thoughts of his father usually do that. “Gerard Argent. I’m sure you’ve heard of him and my sister, Kate, as well. The rest of our family has been trying to distance ourselves from their crimes. Personally, I regret that they weren’t caught sooner. We’ve been doing what we can to make restitution to those that were hurt.”

The sheriff hums and thumbs the edge of a stack of files on his desk. Chris doesn’t need to guess to know what’s in them. “Your sister was killed in Beacon Hills.”

“Animal attack,” Chris confirms. “While she was fleeing from an arson attempt. The Hales, if I’m correct? I went to college with Peter Hale.” Something sharp twists in his gut and he forces it down. “I introduced him to his wife, actually.”

John’s eyebrows raise. “Really? I wasn’t aware that your families had history prior to the fire.”

Chris shrugs. He’s digging into memories that he prefers to keep buried, but he can stand a little pain if it eases the sheriff’s conscience. “There’s not much history to tell really. Peter and I were part of the same fraternity. We dormed together our junior and senior years. It was us and...” He pauses as he tries to recall the names of their other roommates. “Johnny Carmichael and Gerry Weston.” They’re both dead now, thanks to his father. He fights to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I’m afraid we spent more time partying than we did studying but Peter still managed to graduate summa cum laude. We were going to room together after graduation too, but then Olivia came along and I wasn’t about to be the third wheel.” That and a host of other reasons. Chris shrugs. “We went our separate ways after that.”

“Is that why your sister targeted the Hales? Because you used to be friends with one of them?”

Yes.

Chris shrugs. The lie comes easy after years of practice. “I never could figure out the method to her madness. She didn’t leave behind any notes on why she targeted who she had.”

Noah pierces him with a look. “You really have no theories on why she went after the Hales?”

Chris sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “To be frank, she wasn’t the most stable person, even as a child. I think she envied them. All of her targets were large families, correct?”

Noah nods.

Chris looks down at his hands. He doesn’t have to fake the bitterness in his voice. “Ours wasn’t a happy family. My father had been on the outs with his sister—that’s Liliana, the current CEO of Argent Arms—since before we were born. Our mother died when we were young and Gerard had mental issues of his own. Kate and I were never close. I think she hated the families she targeted because they had what she wanted. They were happy.”

Noah stares at him for a long moment before nodding. “I suppose you’re right.” He stands and extends his hand. Chris mirrors him. “Thank you for being so candid with me. I’ll admit I was a bit concerned when I heard another Argent was moving to town, but I have a feeling you and I will get along just fine.” Noah steps around his desk. “We should get coffee sometime. Have you had a chance to meet with General Poretti yet?”

“That’s on the docket for Thursday. She’s a busy woman.”

Noah grins and slaps Chris on the back. “You’ll like her. Real spitfire. Call her Braeden. She hates formalities.”

Chris nods. “Thanks for the tip.”

Noah introduces him to a few officers on the way out of the building. All in all, Chris supposes it can have gone worse.

* * *

Stiles has a Skype message waiting for him as soon as he’s done with dinner. He pings Erica back and then answers the video call that comes through seconds after.

“Alright, Batman,” Erica says. “Spill. Why does the name Argent sound familiar?”

Stiles sighs and leans back in his chair. “You remember the arson attempt at the Hale house a few years ago?”

Erica raises an eyebrow. “Do I remember the monumental event that kicked off your journey into witchcraft and wizardry? Yeah, I think I might be familiar.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

Stiles snorts. “Yeah. That one. Kate Argent was the one who set the fire. The investigation afterward got her father, Gerard Argent, arrested for conspiracy.”

Erica whistles. “So, Allison’s family’s got a few screws loose.”

“We don’t know it’s her family,” Stiles feels the need to point out. Until he has reason to think otherwise, he’s going to assume Allison’s innocent of the crimes of her family. He owes Scott at least that much. “The Argents are a big family, and old. They go all the way back to the 1800s in France. They’re probably the oldest family of werewolf hunters in the world.”

“Werewolf hunters?” Erica hisses. “That’s bad. Like, that’s really, really bad, right? Aren’t the Hales…?”

“Werewolves? Yeah.” Stiles spins his chair in a lazy circle. “That’s why Kate went after them. She’d done it before, with other families. I can only assume they were werewolves as well.”

“And an Argent just happens to show up in a town full of werewolves?”

Stiles stops his spinning and shrugs. “They do have a legit weapons company. My dad’s dealt with them before, and if the military base is opening back up then they have a legitimate reason to be here.”

“It’s the illegitimate reason that I’m worried about.”

“Me too.”

“How are your wards holding?”

Stiles sighs. “Better than Deaton’s.” Deaton has never been very good at the practical application of magic. “I’ll know if anything malicious comes within fifty yards of their property.”

“So, we pretty much get to wait and see if these Argents go off the rails?”

Stiles shrugs again. “I guess. I'll do some digging in dad's files, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.”

Erica makes a face. “True. Any leads on those,” she raises her hands to make air quotes, “animal attacks?”

Stiles groans and falls backwards, almost tipping his chair over. “No. If you can believe it, ripping apart bodies and taking a few organs really doesn’t narrow down the list of culprits. Like, at all.”

Erica snorts. “Oh, I can believe that. Anything I can turn some Googley fu on?”

“Nah.” Stiles swishes his chair back and forth, using his feet to catch on the legs of the desk to stop his progression. “I don’t think research is going to do much on this one. There are too many possible things it could be. I’m going to need to track this thing down. Maybe do some practice runs for cross-country through the Preserve.”

“I’d offer to play Robin to your Batman, but I hate running and I don’t want to be eaten unless it’s by Boyd.”

Stiles gags. “Details I did not want to know.” His screen flashes with a message from Scott. It consists of Allison’s name surrounded by flower and heart emojis. Stiles rolls his eyes. “I have to go. Loverboy is calling.”

Erica blows him a kiss. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Stiles sticks out his tongue. “Stop mixing Marvel and DC.” He signs off to Erica’s laughter and then starts up a new chat with Scott, who launches immediately into the one thousand reasons why Allison is amazing.

Stiles smiles and feels the heaviness in his chest ease a little. At least one of them gets to have a normal, happy life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ”Íocann D'iarr duine éigin aird.” = Someone pays attention.
> 
> Apologies for any inaccuracy. I used Google Translate.


	3. The Wendigo in the Woods

Stiles scans over the forest as he runs. It’s late in the evening, but not too late for him to pass as a normal jogger running through the Preserve. He has his headphones in though his music is on low. He sticks to the well-known public trails though his instincts urge him deeper into the woods. He loses his excuse for being out here if he leaves the trail and he isn’t keen on making a target of himself when there are potential hunters and pissed-off werewolves in the city.

He’s been out every other night this past week, swapping off with Call of Duty and group study nights with Scott, Erica, and Boyd. He finds himself oddly grateful for Allison’s arrival because it means he doesn’t have to make up an excuse for missing any of his usual late-night Skype chats with Scott. He told Scott he’s giving him space to cement his bond with Allison. The fact that he happens to be unavailable on those nights because he’s out looking for a monstrous killer is a happy coincidence. With Erica, he told her the truth and promised regular check-ins to make sure he hadn’t been mauled.

So far, he doesn’t have much to go on. There are any number of things that could have torn up those two bodies and make off with the parts. Hell, it could even be an omega werewolf if it's feral enough, but omegas don’t tend to venture into claimed territory and Beacon Hills has the Hale Pack, the Talbot pack, and the Ito Pack in the area to deal with. His gut also makes him think it isn’t as simple as an omega. This has more of a raging thunderstorm kind of feel to it, like it’s the start of something big.

A piercing shriek off Stiles’s left has him whipping around as a black shape charges him.

“Get down!” Before Stiles can even think about reacting, he’s being tackled to the side. The black shape runs past him, follows by a second blur. He blinks and tries to see what’s going on, but he’s being yanked to his feet before he can get a good look at the creature. He thinks he saw a set of horns but it’s hard to tell as he’s whipped around to face the opposite direction. “Come on!” A hand closes around his arm hard enough to bruise and he’s being pulled back the way he’d come.

Stiles stumbles, rights himself, and then stares at the back of Cora Hale’s head. Like always, he feels a stinging pang of regret wash over him, but it’s quickly pushed aside as he realizes he’s being pulled in the wrong direction. He bites back a curse. Fucking werewolves. He’d finally found the damn thing and they’d chased it—and him—off.

Cora doesn’t stop pulling him until they’re back at his Jeep. Stiles doubles over, hands on his knees as he pants for breath. Cora—that bitch—doesn’t even seem winded.

“What. The. Hell?” Stiles asks between gasps.

“Stay out of the woods.” Cora is in full boss mode. Stiles barely resists rolling his eyes. “It’s dangerous.”

Stiles stares up at her for a moment before straightening. Cora doesn’t even acknowledge his presence at school. She’s soulmates with Isaac Lahey and close friends with Lydia Martin, Jackson Whitmore, and the other popular douches who like to pick on Stiles. He might as well be gum on the bottom of their shoes. If he stands up to her now, tries to argue her away, she’ll get suspicious. Stiles has spent too long in the shadows to stick his neck out now.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Cora is gone before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. Stiles shakes his head and climbs in the Jeep, flipping her off discretely from behind the dashboard. He’ll have to try to find the damn thing again another night.

Stupid werewolves.

* * *

Chris turns away from the counter, coffee cup in hand and comes face-to-face with Peter Hale. He doesn’t startle or drop his cup or give any of the other reactions Peter is no doubt hoping to get from him. Instead, he rolls his eyes and nods his head toward the seating area. Chris takes a seat by the window. Peter sits opposite him. Neither says a word until Chris’s coffee is halfway gone.

“You’ve aged,” Peter says.

“That happens after a decade or two.” He wants to say that Peter looks the same, but that isn’t true. He’s still handsome, still sharp and elegant and all the other things that made Chris fall for him once upon a time, but there’s a somber cast over Peter that seems to weigh him down and darken the core of him.

Losing your soulmate does that. Chris knows from experience.

Peter turns away and stares out at the afternoon crowd. It’s the tail end of the usual lunch rush so the streets are busy. Peter always enjoyed people-watching. “Why are you here?” Peter asks.

Chris takes a long sip from his coffee. “Fort Jewitt. I’m overseeing the deal with the base.”

“Why are you really here?” Peter’s expression doesn’t change. His eyes are still focused on the people moving past the window.

“Beacon Hills has seen a few rough spots lately.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Another body turned up last night. It doesn’t seem to be handled.”

Peter’s head swings back to face him and his eyes flash blue. “It’s being handled.” He stands abruptly, one hand on the table as he leans toward Chris. “Leave now before I make you leave.”

Chris watches Peter stalk out. He stays where he is, quietly sipping at his coffee. He isn’t going anywhere. If things were different, he would have sought Peter out long ago. Just seeing him is like a kick in the heart. There is part of him that wishes they could at least be friends again, maybe commiserate over the loss of their soulmates.

His family burned that bridge. Literally.

Chris grimaces and tosses the cup in the garbage with a bit more force than is necessary. He’d promised Allison that they would stay in one place until she finished her last year of high school, and he isn’t about to break that promise. They’re all each other has left.

* * *

Stiles doesn’t bother with the pretense of jogging tonight. He needs to find whatever is killing people before anyone else turns up dead. It’s a moonless night but Stiles doesn’t need the moon to see, not in these woods. The trees are like glowing green beacons to his other senses, lighting the way around him like he is standing amidst flood lights. He makes no sound as he runs, nor does he leave even a hint of scent behind. He’s geared up and ready to get to business.

A snarl up ahead is his only warning before something black and slimy comes charging at him. He dances to the side, dodging its attempt to ram him, and then ducks when it swings a clawed hand at him. He throws a handful of dust in its face, disorienting it long enough for him to step back and identify the thing.

Black skin. Horns. Emaciated body. 

Wendigo. Perfect.

He shakes out his arms, ready to end this monster’s existence, only to shout as someone grabs him by the back of the collar and pulls him away. A different kind of growl comes from his left before something large tackles the wendigo. The two creatures go down fighting.

Stiles whirls and pulls his shirt out of Cora Hale’s grasp. What the hell is it with these wolves?

Cora’s eyes widen, like she’s startled to see him. “Stilinski? What...” A scream cuts her off and they both turn in time to see an older woman fall to the ground, clutching at the gaping wound in her stomach. Stiles winces. That has to hurt. “Laura!” Cora shouts and launches herself at the wendigo, only to be batted into a tree with one swing of the wendigo’s arm. Something crunches and Cora falls to the ground.

The wendigo grins wide as it approached Laura. Cora pushes herself to her feet, shaking off whatever injury the wendigo caused. She has her claws out and game face on. “Don’t,” he warns. Cora, of course, doesn’t listen. Her claws glance off the wendigo’s skin, like Stiles knew they would, and it bats her aside like she is a toy. Stiles sighs and wonders why werewolves always have to go fucking up his perfectly good plans. “You can’t hurt it,” he adds, too late to do any good. There is only one thing that can hurt a wendigo.

He pulls a small tube from his belt pouch and thumbs the top off. “Get down,” he commands as he flings the mountain ash forward. It soars over Laura to form a perfect circle around the wendigo, trapping it.

Cora turns toward him. “What the hell?”

He nearly growls at her, but he keeps himself in check. He’s not a dumb fucking wolf. “Get down.” He accompanies the words with a gesture and a small bit of force, pushing her to the ground with a surprised grunt. He pulls an inhaler from his pouch, shakes it, takes a puff before letting out a long, steady stream of fire from his mouth. The wendigo screams as it lights up.

Stiles tucks the inhaler away and walks over to where the two werewolves lie on the ground. Cora is already starting to pick herself up. Stiles ignores her for the moment and goes to check on her sister, Laura. The other girl is out and likely in a lot of pain. Stiles winces as he peels back her shirt to get a better look at her wounds. Wendigo pack a pretty mean punch and they usually come with a nasty side of poison for extra fun.

He pulls a small spray bottle out and spritzes it over the gashes on Laura’s stomach. Cora grabs his wrist, stopping him before he is even halfway through.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He jerks at his arm, but her hold is stronger. “What does it look like?” She glares at him. He rolls his eyes. The wendigo keeps screaming in the background as it dies. “What does the bottle say?”

She takes it from his hand and lets him go. “Antiseptic?”

“Yeah.” She looks at him like he’s a crazy person. “You don’t want it to get infected, now do you?” He waves his hand over the wound. “Spray the other side so I can get to work.”

She sniffs the bottle and makes a face. “There’s something in this.”

“There are a lot of things in it. They’ll help. Now do you want your sister to die or not?”

That seems to spur Cora into action. She finishes spraying the rest of the wounds and then Stiles goes to work. He presses his palms against the flat of Laura’s stomach and closes his eyes. His magic springs to life inside of him and he moves it out through his palms and into Laura. Cora gasps, but Stiles ignores her—and the fading screams of the wendigo—and concentrates on pushing out the poison in Laura’s wounds and knitting her flesh back together.

Raw healing is always difficult. Putting torn flesh back together is easy, in a relative sense. The body is full of intricacies, but it still remembers on a molecular level how it is supposed to fit together. Simply restoring something that is damaged is easy, but it requires a whole lot of energy. He gets Laura far enough along that she begins to stir as her own werewolf healing takes over.

Stiles rolls his shoulders as he leans back and wipes his bloody hands on Laura’s sleeve. She won’t mind. The shirt is a loss anyways.

Cora is staring at him like he’d turns blue and grown a second head. “You healed her,” she says with uncharacteristic awe. “You...” She stares at Stiles and then at the wendigo that is nothing more than a pile of cinders and two charred antlers.

“Yep.” Stiles shakes the vial for his mountain ash and it comes slithering back inside. He smiles and leans over Laura’s body to press a finger to Cora’s lips. He pushes a spark of magic through his touch. “And you’re not going to tell anyone.” Cora gapes at him. He plucks the antiseptic from her hand and tucks that away in his pouch. He stands and grabs the antlers from the ash pile. “I’m taking these. See you at school.”

He pulls his magic around him like a cloak, making himself invisible to all her senses. He can’t help but smile at the way Cora gapes after him. Sometimes, it’s awesome being a druid.

* * *

Peter tries to hide his smile as Cora groans in frustration. He’s incredibly disappointed that he’d missed out on the fight against the wendigo, if only because he wants to meet the mage who has Cora so out of sorts.

“Okay,” Talia says. “Let’s try this another way. Was it a man or a woman?”

Cora opens her mouth to respond but nothing comes out. She mouths inaudible sounds, no actual words that he can read on her lips. She throws her arms up with a strangled scream. Isaac flinches from the sudden movement but he doesn’t move away from where he’s pressed against Cora’s side.

“But it is someone you know?”

Cora stares at Talia. Her head doesn’t move, though undoubtedly she wants to move it. Really, the spell she is under is quite ingenious.

“Is it someone I know?” Malia asks. She’s not hiding her amusement as well as Peter is, and that, coupled with Cora’s inability to respond to any of their questions, makes Cora seem fit to burst with anger.

“Here.” Derek drops a pad of paper and a pen in front of her. Cora dives for it and scribbles hastily. The scent of her frustration fills the room, growing until she throws the pad down on the table. It’s obvious that she’d written something but the paper is void of even the slightest depression or mark.

Peter can’t help but chuckle. Cora glares at him, which only makes him laugh harder.

“It’s not funny,” Talia says. “There’s a rogue magic-user out there.”

“It’s a little funny,” Malia mutters, voice still loud enough that they can all hear her plainly. Truly, she is his daughter.

Peter holds up a finger. “First, yes, it is quite funny, and second, haven’t I been telling you that for years? You seem to forget how so many of Beacon Hills’s problems magically disappear. Emphasis on the magic.”

Talia gestures at Cora. “Look what they did.”

“You can still talk, right?” Peter asked Cora.

She leans against Isaac with a sigh. “Yes. But not about...” She cuts off with a groan.

“Obviously, it’s someone who wants a little privacy. We should respect that.”

Talia’s eyes flash red. “They might be dangerous. Who knows what their intentions are?”

Peter snorts. “Yes, they very dangerously killed a wendigo, saved Cora's life, and healed Laura. Such a threat. We are all in mortal peril. Perhaps they will appear to advance their dastardly plan if I get a papercut.”

“I’ll give you a papercut,” Talia grumbled but there’s no heat in her words. No doubt she’s starting to see the reason in Peter’s words. Talia has always been a “ready fire aim” kind of person. That’s why she needs Peter as her Second.

“So, what do we do?” Isaac asks.

Peter shrugs. “Nothing. We’ve been coexisting fine so far. I see no reason to upset the status quo. Besides, now that the wendigo is gone, maybe the Argents will finally leave.”

“We can only hope,” Talia says.

There’s a small part of Peter that doesn’t want to see Chris go. He ignores that part and focuses instead on plotting how he can learn the identity of their crafty magic-user. This is going to be fun.

* * *

Stiles’s tray is loaded down with food. He falls into his chair, half tempted to shove the delicious food aside so he can put his head down and get a few blissful minutes of sleep.

“Long night?” Erica asks with a grin.

Stiles groans and shoves curly fries in his mouth. That’s answer enough. He passes Erica her thermos of tea in between one burger and the next. Allison’s eyes widen as she and Scott sit down opposite him. Stiles has his mouth full, so he points at Scott and then gestures toward Allison.

“His ADHD meds make him ravenous like this sometimes. Usually after long research binges where he forgets to eat.” Scott leans forward to study Stiles for a moment. “And I’m guessing you stayed up all night reading again.”

Stiles swallows and then says “It wasn’t all night. I went to bed at three.”

Scott frowns. “Don’t you get up at six?”

Stiles’ answer is lost in a squawk as he’s yanked backwards by his collar. His chair falls and he stumbles to his feet. His friends start to rise. Stiles glances over his shoulder at Cora’s angry face and then waves his friends off with a grin. “Be right back. Nothing to see here,” he calls as Cora drags him out of the cafeteria.

She shoves him into the first empty classroom and glares. “Fix it.”

Stiles tugs at his shirts to get them to resettle. “I’m going to start charging you if you keep stretching out my clothes. I mean, honestly, a simple ‘please come with me’ would have worked.”

Cora takes a threatening step forward, her eyes flashing yellow. “Fix. It.”

Stiles pushes himself up to sit on the teacher’s desk. “You know, the whole growly werewolf thing really doesn’t scare me.”

Cora steps forward again, right up in Stiles’s space. She bares her fangs and grabs Stiles by the throat, claws almost breaking his skin. He rolls his eyes and pokes her right between the eyes, sending a little zap of magic through his finger. She startles back and stares down at her fully human hands. Her shriek of rage is mildly satisfying.

“What the hell!” She raises her fist to punch him. He deflects it with a wave of his hand, making her stumble off to his left.

“Relax, Cujo, it’s temporary. I’ll end it as soon as you calm the fuck down.”

She points an accusatory finger at him. “You cursed me. My family asked what happened with that thing in the woods and I couldn't say a damn thing about you. I can’t write it down. I couldn’t even get near you until Malia and Isaac left the cafeteria.”

Stiles nods. “Wendigo, and yes, that’s gonna happen. I would recommend not trying to text it either. Fries the phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Take it off.”

He shrugs. “Can’t. Sorry, not sorry.”

Her frown reaches impressive levels. “You mean you won’t.”

“Six of one, half dozen of another.” He tilts his head, studying her. “How much do you know about druids?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Humor me.”

Cora huffs. “Our Emissary is one. They’re supposed to maintain balance in the supernatural world.”

Stiles nods. “Deaton. I know him. Has he ever actively helped you guys? Like, fought alongside your pack?”

Something like comprehension crosses Cora’s face. “No. We go to him for advice and to get patched up, mostly.”

Stiles leans forward. “Right. See, that’s the way druids are. They won’t get involved in anything. It’s against the rules of their order.”

Cora’s eyes narrow. “You’re a druid.”

“Sort of.” He shrugs. “Deaton’s my mentor. I’ve been learning under him since I was ten. He’s the only magic-user around.” Well, aside from Marin but that’s their little secret. “Deaton druid, me druid. Deaton finds out about my extracurricular activities, no more druid. Get it?”

Cora frowns and leans back against one of the student desks. “Yeah. I get it. But why the curse? You could have asked me not to tell anyone.”

Stiles tilts his head. “And would you? Would you have kept the secret from your Alpha? Would she have kept the secret from the rest of the pack?” Cora’s frown is all the answer he needs. “Do you know the best way to keep a secret?”

She shakes her head.

“Don’t tell anyone. Beyond that, make sure whoever knows the secret can’t spread it.” Stiles hops off the desk. “Now I’m going back to lunch. Nice chat. Let’s do it again never.”

His friends shoot him inquisitive looks as he returns to their lunch table. “She had a question about the physics homework,” Stiles says with a smile. He can tell they don’t believe him, but no one calls him out on it.

His friends know how to keep his secrets.

* * *

“How’s your week been?” Marin Morrell asks as Stiles plops down in the seat opposite her desk. In theory, he’s here for his bi-weekly therapy session—something that started after his mother’s death but changed once he met Morrell. She’s his other mentor, the one who showed him how to fight the creatures that he read about in Deaton’s books.

Stiles shrugs. “Killed the wendigo, finally. Cora Hale knows.”

Marin raises an eyebrow.

Stiles waves his hand. “She can’t tell. I used that secret-keeper curse you taught me.” Marin’s smile is proud. Stiles leans back in his chair. “I can’t help but feel like it’s not over, though. Like there’s more out there. Do wendigo travel in packs?”

“They have families,” Marin says. “Much like werewolves. But the family units tend to be more controlled. They’ll bring their kills to a safe location, likely a hidden meat locker in their home. And they won’t waste anything.”

Stiles makes a thoughtful noise. “So, this is like a wendigo omega? Feral and out of its mind, attacking whatever it can find.”

Marin nods slightly. “It’s possible. It’s certainly the more likely outcome.”

“As opposed to?”

“A strong enough darach can control a lone wendigo. It’s unlikely, though. The council keeps an eye out for darachs.”

Stiles nods. There are three kinds of druids—registered druids like Deaton, denounced druids like Morrell, and then darachs, druids who’ve gone dark side. Stiles is technically none of the above since he’s still in training. Admittedly, he doesn’t have much hope of becoming registered, but that’s a bridge he’ll cross when he gets there.

“I’ll ask around,” Marin says. “See if anyone’s heard anything. I doubt it’s anything more than a lone incident, though.”

“What would a darach be after?”

Marin regards him thoughtfully. “Any number of things. Darachs are to druids as omegas are to werewolves. They’re driven mad either by their lust for power or all-consuming revenge. Sometimes both.”

Stiles shudders. “That sounds fantastic.”

Marin smiles. “Don’t worry. You’ll likely never see one in your lifetime.” Famous last words. “Now, why don’t you show me how you’re coming along with elemental control. We were on water, yes?”

“Yeah.” He groans as she sets a bowl in the middle of her desk and pours water into it. He hates working with raw elements. Fire’s been his bitch since he was a child and he’s good with earth, but water does not like him. By the time their session ends, the best he can manage is to make the surface of the water ripple.

* * *

Peter watches from afar as the Argent girl wanders the woods with only a crossbow at her side. Didn’t her father teach her that danger lurks in the woods? But, he supposes, that is what she’s looking for—the danger. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—for her, the danger is gone. He stretches his claws idly. He could provide some danger, but he’d promised Talia.

A noise up ahead draws his attention and that of the Argent girl as well. He stays back as she approaches. There’s a clearing where there shouldn’t be one. He would know, he grew up in these woods. He moves forward slowly, winding his way through the trees to get a better view. There’s a ring of tiny mushrooms at the edge of the clearing. Peter smirks as the Argent girl moves toward the clearing. She stops short of the mushrooms and Peter feels a modicum of respect for her.

“Huntress,” a high-pitched voice says. Peter quietly stalks forward until he can see the tiny creatures inside the clearing. He covers his mouth to hold back a snort. They look like lawn gnomes, complete with pointy red hats. “Huntress! A message!”

Argent kneels by the edge of the clearing. “What message?”

“For Red! Must tell Red!” The other gnomes echo the first, chanting ‘Red’ over and over like it’s a name. “Tell Red of the backwards walker, the hornless goat with ears like thunder.”

Peter tilts his head. The words strike a chord with him. They remind him of something he’d read, though he can’t remember exactly what. There are several supernatural creatures that resemble goats.

“Who’s Red?”

The gnomes chorus the name again. “You know Red,” the gnome says. A mist starts to fill the clearing, creeping out from the mushrooms. “Tell Red.”

Argent shakes her head. “I don’t know anyone named Red.”

The mist rises in a pillar, obscuring the clearing. When it dissipates, the clearing is gone, leaving behind only trees.

Argent turns and leaves but Peter stays, staring at the trees and pondering over the gnome’s words. He has a feeling he knows who Red is.


	4. Seeing Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of dead infants

Stiles hates dead babies. He doesn’t pull up the pictures on the police report. The coroner’s report is bad enough. Two babies found in different parts of the city, both stolen away from their houses after their parents had gone to bed, both drained of blood and missing their hearts. He shudders.

“Stiles!”

He slams his computer shut and looks up as Cora stalks over. He’s alone at one of the more secluded tables in the library but he still checks just in case. No one is looking their way as Cora drops into the chair opposite.

“What’s up?” He asks, keeping his voice barely above a whisper to avoid incurring the wrath of Mrs. Sanders, possibly the crankiest librarian in existence. Admittedly, he’d be cranky too if he had to deal with high schoolers for twenty years.

Cora leans across the table. Her eyes flash yellow. “There are lawn ornaments in the woods,” she says, her voice pitched in a low growl.

Stiles raises an eyebrow and coughs to hide his laugh. “Lawn ornaments?” He pictures someone pranking the Hales by putting pink flamingos all through the Preserve, but he doubts that’s what she means. He needs to keep that idea in the back of his mind the next time the Hales interfere in his work.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Those things with the pointy hats. Only they talk.”

“Oh!” Stiles grins. “The gnomes. How’s Karl?”

Cora’s forehead wrinkles. “Karl? I don’t know. No one mentioned Karl. They were looking for someone called Red.”

Stiles groans and slumps back in his chair. “One time. I wear a red hoodie one time and I never live it down.” Admittedly he still wears that hoodie. After they’d taken to calling him that, he didn’t see the point in not wearing it. Besides, red clothes hide blood better.

Cora blinks. “You’re Red?” A grin stretches across her face. “Wait, hoodie? Like Little Red Riding Hood?” She chuckles. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “That’s what the Fae call me.” 

He is way over that joke. He blames Erica for it. She still teases him about it. There’s a very inappropriate Halloween costume hiding in the back of his closet because of her. He should get rid of it, but the tiny, buried part of him that still thinks he has a chance at a soulmate thinks it might come in handy one day. Assuming he can ever find someone who wants to have sex with him and is into that sort of thing.

“Fae? You mean there’s more of those things?” Cora looks awed.

Stiles grins. “Yeah, they’re all through the woods. Elves, nymphs, pixies, you name it.”

Cora frowns. “How come I’ve never seen them?”

“They only show up when they want to. They’re not fond of werewolves. Or any of the shifters for that matter. Something about the sun and the moon.” He waves a hand. “Anyway, what did they want?”

“They had a message.”

Stiles waits.

Cora shrugs. “I don’t know what the message is. Peter’s the one who was there.”

“Peter?” Stiles frowns. He only knows of one Hale named Peter. “Malia’s dad, Peter?”

“The one and only.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well then text Peter and get him to tell you what it is.”

Cora shakes her head. “He won’t tell me.” She smiles as she says it. It isn’t a particularly nice smile. He supposes he deserves that after he cursed her. “He wants to meet you.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “What?” He winces at how loud his voice is. He leans forward until their noses are practically touching. “No,” he hisses. “It’s bad enough that you know, I can’t risk anyone else knowing.”

Cora leans back with a shrug. “He’s adamant.”

Stiles groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What part of secret do you not understand?”

Cora raises her hands. “Hey, I get it. You get kicked out of your secret order if your boss finds out. My lips are sealed. Literally. You made sure of that.” She grins. It makes her look positively feral. How have people not figured out that she’s a werewolf when she acts like she was literally raised by wolves? “But you’ve never met Peter, have you? He’s tenacious when there’s something he doesn’t know. He can out-stubborn Malia and his wit’s razor sharp.”

Stiles looks to the ceiling as if there is a hidden deity there that would grant him strength. He is half-tempted to pray for strength and see who responds, but religion has never really been his thing. What is it with the Hales? He is so going to flamingo their lawn. With real flamingos.

“No.”

Cora blinks. “No?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, popping the ‘p’. “No deal.” He closes the textbooks spread out around him and packs them away in his bag. “Not happening.” He stands. “I’ll ask the damn gnomes myself.”

He can feel her eyes on him as he storms out of the library.

* * *

Stiles stomps through the woods, making far too much noise. He doesn’t care. There are more dead babies. It’s been barely a week since he stopped the wendigo and now something is killing babies at a rapid rate and he can’t find the damn gnomes.

“Problems?”

Stiles whirls. His shields flare to life around him, blurring his appearance. How could he be so careless? He’s getting sloppy. Dead babies do that to him.

“Neat trick.” The man who steps out from the trees is handsome. His face is all hard angles framing electric blue eyes. He has a hint of a goatee and an amazing set of muscles barely hidden beneath his V-neck shirt. Stiles can imagine what those muscles could do. Then he spots the blue swirl on man’s wrist and sighs.

Fucking soulmarks.

“You must be Peter.”

The man smiles and stretches his arms wide. The glow in his eyes fades but the blue color remains stunning. “In the flesh. And you’re the notorious Red.” Peter steps closer. “I don’t suppose I can get your real name?”

Stiles shakes his head and takes a step back. Peter is a Hale. They are technically allies, but all Stiles can see before him is a threat.

“Hmm.” Peter tucks his hands in his pockets and leans against a tree. “I do wonder why you’re so keen on keeping your identity a secret. You seemed perfectly capable of protecting yourself from that wendigo, so I can’t imagine it’s a personal threat you’re worried about. Family perhaps? Afraid of a good old-fashioned witch hunt?”

Stiles clenches his fists. “What did the gnomes have to say?”

Peter’s lips stretch into a smirk. “Why the hurry? We’ve only just met.”

Stiles lets out an enraged scream. “People are dying. Babies are dying. Little kids. Hearts torn out, and you want to stand here making pleasantries?”

Fucking Hales!

Peter raises his hands. “I cede your point. It’s rare to meet someone of your caliber who isn’t beholden to the restrictions of the druids or part of a coven.” He steps closer. “How about I save you some trouble and cut to the chase? The gnomes wanted to warn you of the current threat, though they were a little cryptic. Thankfully, mythology is a specialty of mine. You’re looking for a sigbin.” 

Ugh. If Stiles wasn’t so worked up over the dead babies, he’d probably be popping a nerd boner from talking to someone who isn’t Deaton that has experience in cryptozoology. He kind of wishes he could tell Peter his real identity, not only because he’d happily spend hours staring at that man’s delicious muscles but also because listening to him talk mythology would be better than any porn he could find on the internet.

He shakes his head. No time for that. Besides, the guy is taken and Malia’s father. That’s a double helping of no thanks. 

“A sigbin?” he asks, pulling his brain back on task. “What the hell is a sigbin doing here?”

Peter shrugs. “The same thing as the wendigo? Killing people. Such beasts hardly need a reason.”

Stiles frowns. “Yes, but wendigo are at least from this continent. Sigbin are Philippine. Beacon Hills is way out of their hunting grounds.” Stiles runs his hands through his hair and tries to remember all he can on sigbin. It isn’t much. They’re mentioned in one of Deaton’s books. They’re goat-creatures that walk backwards, like they’re bending over with their heads between their back legs and ears that can move like whips. Oh, and they have a thing for eating baby hearts.

“You’re going to need me,” Peter says.

Stiles snaps his head back to Peter. Peter’s moved closer while Stiles was distracted. “What?”

“The sigbin are known to have a particular stench.” Peter taps the side of his nose. “I can track it.”

Stiles hesitates.

“You’re still in training, aren’t you?” Peter’s voice is like a warm knife cutting straight through him.

“W-what? N-no.” He shakes his head and takes another step back. He bumps into a tree and jolts in surprise.

Peter tilts his head. “You are. Cora was able to pass a message to you, so you must be local, young. In high school or very recently graduated. Deaton’s pupil, I’m guessing?” Peter hums. “No wonder the secrecy. His little order won’t like your vigilante justice.”

Stiles snorts. “You make me sound like Batman. Like I’m some sort of vigilante superhero.”

“And you aren’t?”

Stiles barks a short laugh. “Hardly.” His thoughts fly back to the Hale fire and he can’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “Superheroes save people.”

Peter stops in front of Stiles’s shields and runs his fingers gently over them. Stiles barely contains his shiver. He’s used to his shields taking an impact or stopping one. This... this is something entirely different. He can feel Peter’s touch like it’s on his own skin. 

“No, you’re scared.” Stiles opens his mouth, but Peter waves a hand. “Don’t deny it, I can smell it.” Peter steps right up to the edge of the shield, his whole body pressing against it. “It’s okay to be afraid,” Peter whispers, like the words are some secret to be shared. “You’re allowed. How long have you been doing this by yourself? Months? Years? Cora is the first to find out, isn’t she?”

“No.” Stiles’s heart is racing and he isn’t entirely sure why. There’s nothing overtly sexual in Peter’s words but it feels like Peter is seducing him. It feels like Peter’s somehow seeing into the core of him, deeper than anyone else has every cared to look and he wants to take down the shields, to surrender to Peter’s gaze and just once—just for once—pretend that he doesn’t have to fight all alone.

He’s never felt like this before.

“I have friends,” he says, like it’s any sort of excuse.

Peter hums again. “And where are they? Certainly not here. No, you’re alone but you don’t have to be. We could work together. The Hales have been protecting Beacon Hills for centuries. We would gladly welcome a young druid of your caliber.”

Stiles’s back presses against the tree hard enough for him to feel the bark through his shirts. His nails bite into his palms. He squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t look at Peter anymore, not with that face and that voice. It does things to him, things no one with a soulmate should be able—or even want—to do.

He’s considering it, honestly considering it. Part of him wonders what the harm would be. He could trust the Hales. He could fight by their sides. No more late nights wandering the woods alone. No more patching up his injuries with his growing first aid kit. No more lonely nights stuck at home worrying and keeping himself glued to the police scanner he’s not supposed to have while his dad is on night shift. He has Scott and Erica and Boyd, but they don’t know about any of this. Well, Erica knows, but it’s only stories to her. She’s not cut out to go toe-to-toe with the things he fights.

He could really use some backup.

If Deaton found out, he’d lose his chance of ever making it into the druidic ranks. He’d lose his one and only source for real training. There is so much that he doesn’t know yet. So much that he has yet to learn.

He opens his eyes. Peter is waiting with that smug smile on his face. “Sorry,” Stiles says, “but I work alone.” He takes another step backwards into the tree and comes out in his backyard. He slumps to the ground with a sigh.

What the hell is he doing?

* * *

Stiles stays up way too late looking up everything he can find on sigbin and how to kill them. It doesn’t look good. They’re tough, vicious, and, because his life isn’t hard enough, they can turn invisible. The only way to track them is by smell which means he does need the fucking werewolves after all.

Fuck his life. Fuck it a thousand times over.

The sound of movement in the hall makes him curse out loud, though softly. He doesn’t bother trying to hide the fact that he’s still awake when his dad raps on the door a second before letting himself in. Noah stares at Stiles with one pointedly raised eyebrow. “We’ve talked about this, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs and closes the lid of his laptop. “Yeah, I know.” He starts getting his bag ready for school in the morning and puts his phone out to charge. At least he’s already changed into pajamas so that’s one step down.

“Do I need to start turning off the internet at 10 pm?”

Stiles rolls his eyes where Noah can’t see. “No.” He doesn’t point out that Stiles was the one who set up their internet in the first place and that he knows all of his dad’s passwords.

“You need to sleep, Stiles. I know…” Noah cuts off and swallows audibly. “I know it’s been hard for you since…” Since his mother died. Since she killed herself to get away from the monster she saw in Stiles. “If you need… I know you’ve been seeing Ms. Morrell, but if you want to go back to Cassandra, we can do that too.”

Stiles groans and turns to face Noah. “Dad, Cassandra’s an idiot. Do not make me go there.”

Noah raises his hands. “Okay, okay. I’m not going to force you.” They both know how well that turned out last time. “But, if there’s something bothering you, you know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

Stiles flinches and looks away. He can’t… he can’t tell his dad. He can’t let him know anything about his freakish life because then he’ll lose his dad too and he wouldn’t survive that. He can’t survive on his own.

Noah sighs. “At least talk to Scott or Erica? You’re not alone. You know that, right? You know I’m here for you and your friends are here. You’re not alone.”

Stiles drops heavily onto his bed and nods while staring at the floor. The urge to cry is so strong right now because sometimes it feels like he is alone, even with all the people around him, he feels so very alone. “Yeah, dad.” He forces the words out of his suddenly tight throat. “I know.”

Noah claps him on the shoulder and then helps Stiles under the covers. It’s been a while since Noah’s tucked him in. It makes him feel like a child, but he kind of needs that right now.

What he really needs is an escape from his own head, but that’s not going to happen.

“Get some sleep, kiddo.”

Stiles nods as Noah flicks off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Stiles stares at the ceiling long after Noah closes the door. His mind trails back to the sigbin. What’s weird about it, beyond that there’s one in Beacon Hills at all, is that they’re only supposed to come out around Easter. It’s October. Unless there’s an Aswang controlling it, though that means he has two problems to deal with instead of one.

Would an Aswang be strong enough to control a wendigo too?

Stiles groans. He wants to ask Deaton, but that would bring up too many questions. Marin’s only good at the practical side of magic which leaves him with Peter.

Peter fucking Hale.

Stiles sighs. He really, really wishes he could trust the Hales but he knows he can’t, because Talia works with his dad and if there’s one thing worse than Deaton finding out, it’s his dad finding out what Stiles really is. He doesn’t want to see his dad look at him the same way his mom did. He’d rather die.

Sleep takes a long time to come and when it does, he dreams of electric blue eyes chasing him through the dark woods.

* * *

“You look like absolute shit.”

Stiles grunts a greeting at Scott and barely resists the urge to try and meld with his locker. He doesn’t want to be here today, but they have a Chemistry test and he doesn’t plan on giving Harris any excuse to fail him. He forces himself upright and shuts his locker. His attempt to head to homeroom is stopped by Allison, who’s staring at him with wide eyes.

Stiles panics slightly and follows her gaze down to his hoodie. There are no visible blood stains, and only a faint stain from some soda. He was certain he’d gotten all of the blood out in the wash. He looks at Scott, but Scott isn’t even paying attention as he shoves stuff in his own locker. He looks back at Allison. “What?”

“Red.”

Stiles pales and then covers it by laughing. The sound comes out half-choked. “Y-yeah.” He’s not fooling her one bit. “Don’t like the color? I was in a bit of a rush this morning.”

Allison shakes her head. “It’s…”

Stiles shoots a pleading look at Allison and then looks pointedly at Scott.

“It’s nothing.” The smile Allison turns on them doesn’t even look fake, bless her. She pecks Scott on the cheek. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

Stiles nods warily. What god did he piss off to make eight years of careful planning and secrecy go down the drain in one week?

Seriously, fuck his life.

* * *

Allison arrives at the table before Scott for a change. She pushes her phone into his hand with a wide, disarming smile. “I don’t think we ever exchanged numbers, Stiles. I really want to get to know you guys better.”

Stiles is not fooled one bit but he obediently types in his name and number on the open Contacts screen, then passes the phone along to Erica and Boyd. His phone buzzes in his pocket after Allison has her phone back.

“Now you have mine too,” Allison says with a bright smile.

Stiles pulls out his phone. There’s a text with a time and an address, followed by _You’re coming over for dinner._

Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes. He guesses he’s meeting the Argents for dinner. When he looks up from his phone, he catches Cora staring at him from a few tables over and she does not look happy. He sighs.

Erica nudges his shoulder. “Girl trouble?” She follows his gaze with a raised eyebrow.

Stiles snorts and shakes his head. “As if. Cora’s bonded. Besides, I’m still-" He goes to show her his blank wrists and then freezes when he catches a glimpse of color there. He shoves his sleeve back up but he’s not fast enough.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there, sparky.” Erica’s grip is ridiculously strong as she grabs his wrist and pulls down his sleeve, revealing an eerily familiar blue spiral on his wrist.

“Holy shit, dude!” Scott’s voice is a little too loud, drawing the attention of the other tables around them.

Stiles slaps his hand over the mark, praying to every god he can think of that neither of the Hales saw the mark. What is going on? It’s too late for him to get a soulmark and he’s certain that Peter’s married. Peter’s also at least twice his age and has a kid in Stiles’s class. Not that that’s entirely uncommon in soulmates, but this… things like this don't happen.

Fuck his life.

“Stiles?”

Stiles looks up to meet Scott’s wide eyes and it’s only then that he realizes he’s hyperventilating. He wants to say something to reassure Scott, to tell him that Stiles will be fine, but that’s a lie and he can’t seem to make his mouth work anyways.

“Alright. Up. Time for the nurse.” Erica has him on his feet before he even realizes what’s happening. He wobbles and then Boyd’s on his other side, keeping Stiles upright without even saying a word and that’s exactly what Stiles needs right now. He closes his eyes and lets Boyd and Erica pull him along.

The nurse takes one look at him and then he’s being settled onto a cot. His head spins. He’s not ready for this. Not now. Not with everything going on.

“Hey, Batman?” Stiles blinks up at Erica. She’s perched on the edge of his cot. Usually it’s the other way around. Erica holds up his left wrist where a stylized A stands out in red against his previously unmarked skin. “Double the pleasure, double the fun?”

Stiles groans. He doesn’t even want to know who that other mark belongs to, but he has a feeling he’s going to find out soon. It can’t be a coincidence.

“Double fuck my life.”

The nurse knows him well enough that she doesn’t even call him out for swearing. Erica laughs.


End file.
